Special
by Miss Matched
Summary: She picked up the first discarded shirt, folded it, and declared that she hated, hated, hated the way her heart was racing, how she felt so warm, how she couldn't stop looking at that clock! One shot, one sided TéaYami


_Special_

Written for Livejournal community "ygolyricwheel"

Based on the song "He Wasn't" by Avril Lavigne

Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

"Stupid shoes--"

The force of her foam platform sandals hitting the wooden door caused the hanging "do not disturb" sign to fall from its rightful place on the brass doorknob as Téa Gardner kicked the offending shoes off her feet. She'd worn them for style; the vibrant yellow matched her tank top perfectly, but had she realized she was going to stand around all day, she would have opted for sensible flats.

"Yeah right," she amended with a laugh as she sat down on the nearby bed, "More like I would have worn them anyway and suffered in the name of fashion." A glance down at the comforter beneath her elicited a shudder. "Speaking of fashion, here's a travesty against it," Her fingers brushed the plush surface with a mixture of disgust and awe at the fabric's pattern, "Paisley? How many years ago did that go out of style? Five? Ten?"

As Téa glanced around the sparely decorated room she resided in, she came to the conclusion that the hotel had taken to hiring color blind designers. Flamboyant patterns adorned every surface in a wide variety of clashing colors. Orange flowers crawled up the wall, a pale yellow and pink checkerboard comprised the curtain design. It seemed odd that Téa hadn't noticed these blatant fashion faux pas earlier. She had, after all, been staying in this room for the past two days.

She almost hadn't gotten this room, (or this massive headache from the décor,) all to herself. Being twenty-five percent of an unbreakable foursome, (technically a quintet in spirit) she'd almost been assigned a room with one of her dear friends. Of course, this wouldn't have worked out too well. As much as she loved Joey and Tristan, they were perverts. Already she had caught them at the airport terminal rifling through her undergarments while they thought she was using the bathroom. Yugi would have been by far easier to room with. He'd even cheerily offered.

"I, um..." She had stuttered, looking at the luggage piled at her feet, at the two rooms, side by side, which the hotel had provided, then at the three boys in front of her. Rooming with Yugi would be no trouble. But rooming with the mysterious (and, she'd admit it, dreamy) spirit that inhabited him was a different story all together. "How do you boys feel about a sleepover?"

Yugi shuffled his feet, blushing slightly "Well...," he stuttered.

"You gonna bring all of your luggage with you?" Tristan asked eagerly, and Joey elbowed him in the gut.

Téa sighed, "What I mean is, all three of you in one room?" She tried to ignore as Yugi's bright smile crumpled slightly at that.

"What kind of crap idea is that?" Joey asked, crossing his arms and pouting. The two key cards dangled from his loose fist, "No way, we're not getting jammed together so you can have an entire room to yourself!"

"I'm a girl, Joey," She retorted, snagging one card from his fingers, "I'm going to need my privacy, and I'll be in room 214 if you need me."

It usually wasn't a problem, being treated like one of the guys. Téa actually preferred it. There wasn't an extreme awkwardness in their every conversation, and the fact that she had boobs didn't seem to loom over their heads constantly. They could all just be friends. Equals.

"Almost too equal," She mumbled sarcastically as she massaged the bottoms of her feet. As always, love made things complicated, and unrequited love just made the whole system fall apart. Add to that the fact that the object of this affection is the spirit of an ancient pharaoh, and then it's easy to see how the concept breaks down. She was a friend, just like Yugi, just like Tristan and Joey. Nothing more.

But despite being "one of the boys", Téa had never given up on good things like the joy of matching colors, or really high heels. But a day with sore, calloused feet and clashing decor was already bound to be labeled bad. In fact, nothing in this particular weekend really stood out as going exceptionally well. She had been pretty excited about going on this trip, a small promotional tour for a new line of Duel Monster cards. As a major stockholder in Industrial Illusions, Yugi was given the job of headlining the events, along with VIP treatment along the way. In fact, Industrial Illusions extended his privileges to his group. Téa had just expected a couple of exhibition duels, maybe a formal dinner or two, and then spending the rest of the weekend bonding. Instead, it had been a grueling period, filled with duels, press meetings and photo ops. She had spent the majority of that Sunday watching Yugi help young children put together their decks. (To Téa's amusement, Yami didn't have nearly enough patience to deal with squirming nine year olds, and left the privilege to his partner.) There hadn't been nearly enough chairs in the convention building where the event was held, and so many people showed up that only standing room was available. Instead of standing by Yugi's side, Téa, Tristan and Joey found themselves spread far apart the crowded room, attempting to play babysitter for the kids whose parents decided to leave them until the exhibition ended.

Laying her head on the plush pillow, Téa looked over at the night stand next to the bed. The digital alarm clock flashed ten thirty PM. Nearly Monday. God she hated Mondays. Next to the clock, a beige colored phone. An extremely quiet, beige colored phone. Why did every hotel room have a _beige_ phone? Was that color a requirement or something? Why couldn't it be white or maybe an off white? (Ten thirty-two) Or taupe? Light brown? Tan? Maybe all of the (Ten thirty-four) hotels from all over the world got together and ordered their phones in one huge shipment, then divided them out.

He was going to call tonight. As soon as everything was settled in. Before Yugi was ready go to to bed. He said he would.

(Ten thirty-six.)

No, she didn't need to take her fingers away from her mouth. No, she wasn't biting her nails down to stubs. She wasn't nervous. And her? Impatient? Never!

"Like I'm really fooling myself." She sighed, absentmindedly tearing the white from a previously perfectly shaped nail.

She needed to keep herself busy. After all, _he_ was probably busy, planning a new dueling strategy, doing something. That's why her phone wasn't ringing. They'd be leaving the hotel the next morning; she should probably start cleaning her room.

Not exactly an easy task. Like the average woman, Téa wanted to be prepared for any possible situation while on this trip. In other words, she over packed. Tube tops and designer jeans lined every chair, hats hanging from a coat rack. Hair products on the radiator. (Ten forty-one.) Almost Monday. (How she hated Mondays.) Need to clean...

She picked up the first discarded shirt, folded it, and declared that she hate, hate, _hated_ the way her heart was racing, how she felt so warm, how she couldn't stop (ten forty-five) looking at that clock! If only she could, as easily as she packed away her clothing and hair supplies, could pack away these emotions, stick them in a tiny compartment until she was ready to open herself to them.

It was easy falling in love with the mysterious stranger, clothed in the body of her best friend. It was easy depending on his charismatic speeches and unerring sense of right. It was easy for her to stare into his eyes and picture him finally _seeing_ her as more than a good friend or a loyal sidekick. He had saved her so many times, maybe he'd finally let her save him from the confusion and pressure of his missions and illusive past. Someday he'd would turn those intense crimson eyes at her, wouldn't he? Those eyes that made her feel like she was the only person in the room. Someday he'd open up to her, let her shoulder some of his burdens, and then he'd see all the love she had in her heart.

She had that moment scripted, and the images of it ran through her head like a reel of film. A phone call, an "I need to talk to you," before he walks down the hall and raps his knuckles against the oak door, which she opens only a moment there after. In this dream, she's not nervous, and the butterflies that beat their wings against her stomach when ever she sees him are silent. She ushers him in, as cool as you please, and he takes a seat on her bed. And as he talks, she reaches out and takes his hand, and he doesn't flinch away from her warm touch. And as their fingers meet, their faces inch closer, until finally...

_ RING! _

(Ten-fifty)

She blinked a couple of times as the phone rang, trying to distinguish the noises from the present from the ones in her fantasy.

_ RING-RING!_

The phone was really ringing! Her heart skipped a beat as she reached for the receiver. She pressed the phone against her ear, vaguely thinking how odd it was that she could hear her pulse amplified through the ear piece. "Hello?" She asked, trying hard not to sound too anxious.

"Téa," The voice was a dark, rich baritone, "Sorry if I've awakened you. Yugi had to explain to me how to use one of these 'phones'." His pronunciation of the word was slightly off, and she stifled a chuckle. "Though I don't understand why I should not talk to you in person. Yugi mentioned something about it not looking proper."

"Oh," Oh, that was right. The reason why she'd wanted a separate room to begin with. For her privacy, and to keep some dignity in tact, "No problem, Yami. And you didn't wake me up, I was just sitting here..." her eyes flitted over to the remote on the night stand, and the TV guide seated underneath, "...watching TV. Just watching TV. What did you need to talk about?"

Yami's voice remained steady, almost without inflection, "It is rather personal, and I didn't know who I should talk to."

"Well, you came to the right place," She said, grateful that blushes weren't visible over the phone line, "You can always talk to me."

"I know I can," He said, and she thought she could detect a faint trace of earnestness in that voice, " Téa..." he trailed off.

'Here it comes...'

"Yes, Yami?"

"Téa, we're out of toilet paper in the bathroom here. Tristan and Joey are using the complementary towels that the hotel has provided, and I don't believe that's what they are supposed to be used for. Who should I turn to?"

Téa blinked, then stuttered, "T-toilet paper?"

"That is the correct word for the paper that's on a roll, correct? The material that you use to w---"

"Yes, yes, that's the right word." She said quickly, "Press zero on the phone and talk to room service."

Yami sounded relieved, "Thank you, Téa." He said before hanging up.

"Goodbye," she muttered, long after the dial tone started to pulse in her ear.

So much for that fantasy.

"How could I be so stupid?" She asked herself with a chuckle as she set the phone back down. A few deep breaths calmed those frantic butterflies in her stomach, eased the woosy feeling until only the disappointment and feelings of utter stupidity remained.

What had she been expecting anyway? A ten page monologue and declaration of love?

Well... yes.

"I hate this," She mumbled, flopping back down onto the cheap hotel bed, "I hate not being in control." More than that, she hated not being in control of her emotions. She just spent an hour looking forward to a conversation about toilet paper, for crying out loud! Something needed to change, right here right now, she decided. And while she couldn't change her situation, she could change her point of view.

He wasn't everything she dreamed he was. She'd always known that. No one can live up to the romantic fantasies that love sick girls can concoct. Maybe she didn't even love him, only the thought of a dashing hero who would love her and save her from all of the insanities of her life. Someone who treated her like she was special. Because she was special, wasn't she?

She wasn't so sure of anything at this moment, only the physical attributes of the room around her: the ugly paintings and paisley bedspread. So she turned down the covers, and turned off the light. Snuggling up in the blankets, she tried to clear her mind. Perhaps these conflicting feelings would be easier to understand in the morning, when she was away from this hideous motel room and schedule and back home, back where her life seemed to make sense. But until then, she unplugged the phone from the wall, closed her eyes and hoped for a dreamless sleep.


End file.
